


It’s Not Really Christmas Until You Burn the Popcorn

by OriginalCeenote



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: All Caps Secret Santa Fic Swap, And Steve Gets REALLY MUSHY ABOUT IT, Bucky Surprises Steve, Christmas Decorating, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Friendly Canoodling, M/M, Nostalgia, Popcorn, Tumblr Prompt, Watching Old Movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 22:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8866477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: This is my gift offering for gaygent-romanoff for the “All Caps” Secret Santa Fic Swap! The prompt: How about Steve and Bucky decorating a christmas tree in their apartment and the smell is really familiar for both of them because they did it the same way in the 1940s? Maybe with Nat and Sam???
So, that being said, here we go.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LieutenantSaavik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LieutenantSaavik/gifts).



> Thank you to samwichwilson on Tumblr for being awesome and messaging me my prompt again when I goofed and deleted it. I’m Tumblr-impaired. No rotten tomatoes, please.

“Tell me again why we’re headed to Brooklyn in this mess, Wilson?” 

“You’re going to love it. No complaining, Romanoff.”

“Please tell me they at least have premium cable in that dung heap of an apartment.”

“They’re not savages. And Tony hacked them into his satellite signal that he uses for the tower. Calls it ‘Stark Vision.’ And renting that dung heap runs for five grand a month.”

“I’m watching ‘A Christmas Story” when we get there,” she announced.

“Fine with me. You might not get any argument from them, anyway. Bet Steve’ll love it.”

“I doubt he’s even seen it yet,” Nat mused.

They took the subway in lieu of Tony’s cars or Nat’s beloved black Vette. Nat was adamant that she wasn’t going to risk parking out on the street, especially not during holiday season. They stalked briskly through the crowd on the sidewalk, a study in contrasts. Nat was shrink-wrapped in dark-wash skinny jeans and a snug, belted leather jacket, knee-length wedge-heeled boots, a butter-soft pair of leather gloves, and a knit headband to keep her ears warm without the nuisance of a hat. Sam wore flannel-lined jeans and a sherpa fleece-trimmed aviator jacket with a green muffler wrapped around his neck, a heavy pair of gloves, and a pair of thinsulate-lined work boots, style be damned. The cold barely phased Nat, but Sam Wilson was in no mood to freeze his tits off in Brooklyn in December.

They made it to the brownstone walk-up and Nat pressed hard on the buzzer for the intercom when they reached the door. “Bet they’re listening to corny music from the forties.”

“Sinatra’s not corny,” Sam argued.

“You’re just as bad, Wilson.” They’d had this discussion on many a road trip, fighting over whose Pandora playlist would get plugged into the bluetooth on long rides. Nat threatened to smother him in his sleep if she had to hear the Curtis Mayfield’s “Pusher Man” one more time. Sam, on the other hand, maintained that Nat had spent too much time with Clint, and that no one should listen to that much eighties hair metal. Nat leaned on the buzzer again.

“I can’t feel my feet,” Sam complained.

“Quit being such a baby,” Nat told him. “This is nothing compared to where I grew up.”

“You have ice in your soul, so it’s moot.”

“I can warm you up later?” she suggested, waggling her eyebrows and giving him that crooked smile that admittedly made him stupid. Sam returned and gave her shoulder a playful bump.

“Only if you promise to take your time. It’s dangerous to thaw someone out too fast. Don’t wanna go into shock.”

“I’ll send you into shock,” she offered, and Sam leaned down to steal a kiss, but the intercom buzzed with static when their lips were mere millimeters apart.

“ _What took you two slowpokes so long to get here?_ ” Bucky accused. Nat heard aggravation in his tone. He was definitely flustered, which was rare.

“We were making you two goofballs _baked_ goods, which I might not bring up, now, after all,” Nat said with a hint of very real threat in her voice. “I’m not above eating all these tea cakes myself, y’know.”

They heard a pause, then another crackle of static. “ _The ones with the walnuts and powdered sugar?_ ”

“Just let us in, Barnes, fer cryin’ out loud!” Sam stamped his feel and rubbed his hands together, still carrying the package under his arm. They heard the blaring, long buzz as Bucky unlocked the front security door for them to come in. The front entryway was drafty, and Sam and Nat took the stairs two at a time.

They smelled a familiar odor in the hallway when they reached Bucky and Steve’s apartment. “Is he burning something?” Sam asked furtively.

“Maybe it’s not burnt. Maybe it’s just ‘well done.’ Or, ‘Cajun blackened.’”

“I ain’t eating it,” Sam claimed just as they heard Bucky undoing the deadbolts and the sliding chain on the lock. He jerked open the door, and Sam and Nat grinned at the sight of him, thoroughly rumpled and half of his hair pulled free from his ponytail, no doubt from tugging at it all day.

“I’m about the throw the whole tree down the stairs,” Bucky told them. “Get in here. Where are the cookies?”

“Hold your horses,” Nat told him. She leaned up and pecked him on the cheek. Sam clapped him on the shoulder as he crossed the threshold.  “You look done in, already.”

“Been up since the crack of dawn. Steve woke me up before he went on his stupid run.”

Nat gave him a knowing look. “Woke you up, huh?” Bucky had the decency to bite his lip and glance away.

“Don’t put that image in my brain,” Sam said cheerfully as he headed straight for the kitchen to unpack the boxes they brought. He opened the round, dollar-store gift tin and unwrapped the wax paper inside, revealing the Russian tea cakes. The smell of butter and sugar made his mouth water. He took Nat’s box from her and unpacked a box of Hershey’s cocoa powder, a bag of tiny marshmallows, the foil package of fudge that Nat made, and a box of peppermint sticks.

“Please tell me you remem-” Bucky’s plea was cut off by Nat fishing the bag of popcorn kernels out of her purse.

“Of course we remembered. Still have no clue why you wanted this kind instead of the Pop Secret packs.”

“First, that’s a sacrilege. Just… no. You’re not bringing that processed grease into my house. Second, I’ll show you why. Walk this way.”

“It’s not ‘grease.’ It’s ‘movie butter,’” Nat muttered as Bucky showed them to the living room. Sam began to unzip his jacket, since Bucky had the heat turned up to what felt like eighty, and Sam was already beginning to sweat. He paused in removing it when he saw the behemoth before them.

“Lawd,” Sam breathed. “Damn. Bucky. That’s… what _is_ that?”

“Steve and I cut it ourselves,” he boasted, but he was rubbing his nape, one of his tells that he wasn’t certain whatever he’d done was such a great idea, after all. “It was a bitch trying to get it into the stand.”

“That’s… the ugliest pine tree I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Nat mused. “That’s Clark Griswold’s tree.”

“Who?” Bucky’s brows drew together.

“Clark Griswold?” Nat gaped. “You heathen. Don’t stand there and tell me you haven’t watched _Christmas Vacation?_ ”

Bucky shrugged. “No clue who Clark is. Or why this is his tree. You lost me, Romanoff.”

“We’re getting you caught up. This conversation is painful. You poor, deprived soul.” She went to wrap Bucky in a hug, but he pushed her off of him, smirking. 

“That’s enough of that. Go do something useful. Pop some corn.”

“Your tree isn’t decorated yet!”

“That’s the point of the popcorn.”

“Uhhhhh…” Sam held up his hands, indicating _I got nuthin’_. 

“Popcorn garland,” Bucky explained, sighing. 

“Oh, my God. Seriously, Bucky? Like… one of those old timey trees with strings of it hanging all over it?”

“It’s not… ‘old-timey,’” Bucky protested, shoving his hands into his pockets. “We used to make the garland every year when we were kids.”

“What? You and Steve?”

“Yeah.” Bucky huffed, and he glanced at the tree, a hint of a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. “It was fun. Ma would invite Steve and Sarah over for cider and egg nog, and Stevie and me, we’d get to dress the tree and help my sisters make the gingerbread house.”

“Wow.” Nat was impressed. “That’s just so… traditional.”

“Sounds like work,” Sam corrected her. “So, is that what you were burning, earlier?”

“It might have got away from me while I was messing with the tree stand,” Bucky admitted. “Uh… I had to throw the first batch out.”

“Right. Okay,” Nat pronounced. “That being said, where’s Rogers?”

“I sent him to run a few errands,” Bucky admitted. “He wanted to stop for coffee, but I told him I forgot to get a gift for Pepper. That’s good for at least a couple of hours so I can get to work on the tree.”

“When did he leave?” Sam asked.

“Fifteen minutes ago.”

“Wow. Okay, James,” Nat told him. “Grab your phone and give him another errand. Or three. Better yet, five. We need more time if the goal is to surprise him.”

“The goal is to make the living room look like less of a train wreck,” Sam decided. Bucky had several boxes that were coughing out bubble wrap and styrofoam onto the floor and several packages of antique-looking ornaments. A ceramic Nativity set sat in the middle of their coffee table; the figurines looked like Hummel.

“Did those cost a grip?” she asked Bucky as she picked up the Mary figurine and turned it in her hands.

“Nope. Ebay.”

“Nice.”

“Sarah had a set like that.” His voice was nostalgic. “My ma threatened to tan our hides if we played ball in the house and busted any of her Hummel.”

Bucky fished his phone out of his jacket pocket and called Steve while Sam and Nat made themselves at home in his kitchen, rummaging for his large, copper-bottomed pot and a Pyrex lid. Sam made gagging motions at the almost syrupy tone of Bucky’s voice and the lovey dovey way he told Rogers to hurry back (even though the purpose was to ensure that he _didn’t_ ). Sam took over popping duty, not trusting Nat, since she was still threatening to go downstairs and down the block to the 7-11 to get Pop Secret while Bucky wasn’t looking. He drizzled some olive oil (because Sam had standards) into the pot and poured in a half a cup of kernels, fired up the burner, and covered it with the lid. 

“Go put on one of your movies,” Sam told Nat when she started sulking. “Show Bucky the magical talking box.”

“Kiss my ass, Wilson,” Bucky muttered while he rummaged in an old-fashioned looking sewing box - a cookie tin, more accurately, Sam realized - and fished out a large upholstery needle and a large spool of heavy duty thread. 

“We’re really doing this.” Nat sighed as she looked around at the mess.

“It’d be nice to get most of it made before he gets back,” Bucky pressed hopefully. And then he hit her with the Puppy Eyes, and Nat growled under her breath. “Just wanted to give him a Christmas like when we were kids…”

“You mean back in the Stone Age,” Sam quipped from the stove as he shook the pot to agitate the kernels.

“The Fossil Age,” Nat corrected him. Bucky flipped them double birds and went back to unpacking ornaments.

Sam remained on popcorn duty while Bucky and Nat began stringing garlands from the first batch. It was tedious and painstaking, and the thread kept tangling and getting caught in the rills of Bucky’s metal left hand. They turned the air blue with curses and insults and finally turned on _Christmas Vacation_ to cut the monotony. 

“That’s the guy from _Caddy Shack._ ” Bucky looked pleased at this knowledge.

“Yeah,” Sam said, looking impressed.

“Clint knows all the dialogue from that movie and dances like the gopher at the end credits,” Bucky explained. “We watched it last week.”

Nat pouted. “He’s only supposed to watch Chevy Chase movies with _me_. Traitor.”

“All you missed was Barton dancing like a gopher,” Sam told her as he started another batch. “Which is no different from any other day, come to think of it.”

They continued working on the garland, and Sam made a separate batch of popcorn for them to actually _eat._ Within a couple of hours, they had two decent strands of garland and pricked fingers. Nat went to hang the first one on the tree, but Bucky made her hold off.

“Wait. The lights go on first.”

“Seriously? You’re the worst,” Nat swore, throwing up her hand. “Please tell me you at least have a string of lights that we don’t have to… untangle.” Nat hung her head and gave Bucky a dirty look when he held up the mass of lights in a massive knot of green, loopy cord. “I hate you, Barnes.”

“Think of the look of joy on Steve’s face when he comes in and sees the tree all decorated-”

“Shut up.” She held out her hand with finality. “Give me those.”

Nat worked on detangling the light strings while Sam made a consolation pot of cocoa. The scent of chocolate and vanilla extract mingled with the odors of popcorn (burnt and fresh) and filled the apartment. Bucky frowned as he pulled out a pack of ornaments.

“This one’s broken,” he tsked.

“Always end up sacrificing a few every year,” Nat remarked. “More from Ebay?”

“Not all of them. I talked Steve into a trip to this flea market out on Long Island, and this younger couple was selling off all the mom’s ornaments that they said didn’t match their style. Couldn’t believe they didn’t want to keep ‘em,” Bucky muttered. “Dummies. I just _wish_ I had anything left of my mom to hang up in my house. But Ma had a few pieces like these.” He dangled a mercury glass orb with an indented, swirly center by the hanging hook, letting it catch the light. “She’d just. She’d be really. Happy. Happy that Stevie and I… that we’re doing okay.”

Nat pretended that she didn’t see his eyes spark a little. She tested the light strings one at a time once she had each one stretched out along the floor to examine the bulbs and make sure none of them were blown out. Nat got up on a step ladder (“You make your shortest friend help you decorate the big-ass tree, James. Where’s the logic in that?”) while Bucky stood on one side of the tree and let her pass each length of light around the side closest to the wall so they could wrap it all the way around. The job was always a pain in the ass when you had to do it alone. They wove the lights through the branches of the huge fir, knocking loose pine needles that scattered over the carpet.

“That’s why I don’t do real trees,” Nat informed them.

“Or real popcorn,” Bucky pointed out.

“Or a real identity,” Sam called back from the kitchen.

“Bite me, Wilson!”

“Where?” Sam offered, wiggling his eyebrows from the stove. Nat folded her arms and gave him a long-suffering look.

“Get a room. Better yet, don’t. This is my apartment. DO NOT get a room. Nobody’s getting a room!” Bucky reached for the mercury glass strands of beads next. They were a mottled shade of blue, and he had four strands.

“Those are kitschy-looking,” Nat said. “I kind of like them.”

“Right?” Bucky agreed. “I always liked these. S’funny, I used to tell Stevie they matched his eyes.”

“You’re a sap, Barnes,” Sam told him as he filled four cocoa mugs.

“Even back when you were kids?”

“No. Not… not when we were little. We were lying under the tree one night, on Christmas Eve. Our folks had gone out to a grown-up’s party and my sisters had already gone off to bed. Me and Stevie just snuck down and lit a couple of candles and just stared at the tree. We stayed up talking until we drifted off. The beads looked real pretty in the candle light.” Bucky smiled wistfully. “So did Stevie.”

“Sounds like someone had a crush.” Sam inserted a peppermint stick into each cup and sprinkled in some of the mini-marshmallows before carrying the mugs to the coffee table. 

“Wasn’t gonna tell him that. Not in so many words. It wasn’t, it wasn’t something you just came out and said, back then. We were pals.” Bucky huffed as he reached for the popcorn garland. 

“Did you two pals ever hang out under the mistletoe?” Nat asked as she sipped her drink.

“Might’ve.”

“No, no,” Sam argued. “Look at that face, Natasha. There was no ‘might have’ about it. Barnes and Rogers were messing around under the mistletoe while their folks stepped out. Somebody’s looking guilty.”

“Guilty? Eh. Sorry? Nope,” Bucky pointed out just as they heard the key rattle in the lock, and his eyes lit up. He set down his cup and was off like a shot to answer the door.

“Did he seem a little eager?” Sam asked, raising a brow at Nat.

“No. Oh, no. Not at all.” But Sam sank down beside her on the couch and bumped her shoulder with his. “How you doin’?” he murmured.

“Hey.” They snuck the kiss they’d missed downstairs and let it linger while Bucky helped Steve inside with the bags.

“The traffic out there was _nuts_ , Buck. I never wanna brave that mob this close to Christmas again. Saw two women getting into a fist fight over the last bottle of Japanese Cherry Blossom lotion at Body and Bath. I got Pepper the Vanilla and Warm Sugar.” Nat and Sam heard Steve stamping the snow off his boots and taking them off at the door.

“Sounds fancy,” Bucky offered, shrugging.

“It’s her favorite,” Nat confirmed from the couch. “Smart man.”

“Ma used to just smooth a little Vaseline on her hands to keep them from getting chapped,” Steve said. “Hand cream was never so… pastry.” Then, “What’s that smell? Did you burn something?” His voice sounded amused.

“I didn’t burn the popcorn. It was just well-done.”

“Sure, Buck. You guys must have made a ton of it-”

Steve’s voice carried through the corridor toward them as he joined them in the living room, but his breath caught as he caught his first glimpse of the tree. His eyes widened, then sparked. He folded his arms and turned to Bucky for answers. For some assurance that he could believe what he was seeing.

“We, uh. We might have tried to, y’know. Do something with the tree like when we were kids.”

Steve nodded, and he gave Bucky a faltering smile, but he covered his mouth with his fist.

“You’re awful quiet, Stevie.”

Steve nodded and approached the tree. He reached out and traced the gleaming blue mercury glass beads with his fingertips. “Where’d you get these?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“Found ‘em at an estate sale. Went flea marketing while you and Clint were in the Savage Land. Had some time on my hands and Stark’s Visa Black Card.” Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulders and gave him a little shake. “Is it okay? D’you like it?”

Steve nodded. He ducked his face and wiped his eyes with the edge of his sweater cuff. Nat and Sam heard his harsh sniff.

“Sam made cocoa,” Nat offered.

“Say something. We can… we can go hit Big Lots or something and get something that’s not so-”

“Don’t. Don’t change a thing.” Bucky stared into his face and rubbed his back soothingly.

“Was this too much?”

“No. It’s perfect, Buck. It’s. It’s just.” Steve stared at Bucky through wet, pink-rimmed eyes, but his smile was soft, wobbling. He reached up to hold Bucky’s hand where it rested on Steve’s shoulder and squeezed it. 

“I did good?”

“Yeah. You did real good.”

“We’re not even halfway done yet,” Nat reminded them. “We still haven’t even hung the rest of the trinkets.”

“Or put the angel on top,” Sam chimed in.

“You made the popcorn garland.” Steve looped his arm around Bucky’s waist. “That must’ve taken forever.”

“Using a sewing needle would be a bitch if I weren’t right-handed,” Bucky reminded him, chuckling and kissing Steve’s temple. “S’worth it to see you smile.”

“Lawd,” Sam pronounced, rolling his eyes. “Save me from going into sugar shock from these two heathens…” Nat elbowed him.

“Quit it! It’s sweet!”

“Um, I just _said_ that!”

“You don’t have to be an ass about it!”

Steve and Bucky ignored them for a moment. That became several. Bucky tasted like cocoa and salt.

“They still match your eyes,” Bucky murmured.

All of those Christmases resurfaced in their shared memory. Clamoring around Winifred’s stove where she stirred the cider pot, full of the rich, cinnamon-scented brew floating with bits of fruit. Huddling outside the window of the toy store, watching the toy train wind its way around the track. Helping Joseph and George cut down the tree when they drove up to the hills, stamping their feet to force feeling back into their numb, booted toes. Ice skating at the park. Watching the Christmas parade from the fire escape. Stealing kisses under the mistletoe when everyone had gone to bed, feeling their cheeks burn and pulses skip. Exchanging small, cheap gifts when they had any change to spare to get each other anything when they lived together in their crappy apartment, lingering by the space heater and eating meager dinners. Listening to their mothers, dressed to the nines and wearing their best lipstick, fussing at them to get ready for Christmas Mass and herding them out the door. Bucky’s last Christmas before he was deployed to Italy; the mood was somber when George cut the roast. Celebrating the holiday with rationed chocolate bars and purloined alcohol when they would camp out in the rough while they were stationed at Azzano. 

The holidays felt daunting to them, now, as though they were still each waiting for someone to try to take away what they had. The relief of finding each other again and just… finding _themselves_ after missing so much made everything feel fresh and precious. Seventy years of mornings opening gifts by the tree, dusting the Hummel Nativity figures and lighting bayberry candles, gone the night Bucky fell from the train. Christmas meant unanswered letters and toasting fallen friends in different bars and bistros across Europe, letting the alcohol warm his chest, even though it couldn’t fill the hollow space Bucky left behind, or get him drunk enough to numb the ache.

The popcorn garland signified a leisure that came from peace, and enough time to sit with loved ones, without fear that it could be the last time. The faint squeak of the needle puncturing the kernel and sliding through it, anchoring it on the string was comforting underscored conversations about recipes and patching the roof before the next big snow, and of Sarah wondering if she could finish knitting the scarf she made for Joe before Christmas. She always sent him a tin of Russian tea cakes, a favorite among the men of the 107th, even of those who claimed their own girls back home could make better. Sweets were sweets, a token of home. Of life unstained by death and gunsmoke. Making the garland was a chore for several pairs of hands, for a family; birth family or found family was irrelevant.

*

They finally got down to the business of dressing the tree with the ornaments. So many of them were vintage, little brass sleighs, glass pinecones and strawberries that were popular in the forties, small doll baby figurines and cherubs with pouting faces made from enamel, beaded stars, and more of the indented globes with starbursts in the centers. Nat held court, nagging them about placement and distribution so they didn’t weigh down one side of the tree and leave the other bare. More popcorn and cocoa were consumed (Sam might have spiked the second pot of chocolate with Kahlua) and Steve hauled out the gift wrap and additional presents he’d picked up.

“I’m wrapping impaired,” he claimed. “Nat, have at it.”

“You big baby.” Nat sifted through Steve’s bags, lifting out the items and the dollar store gift boxes. “It’s not even hard!”

“It’s even easier when you do it,” Steve assured her, grinning.

“You could be helping him, James.”

“Metal hand,” Bucky insisted, shrugging and holding it up. Nat stuck out her tongue at him and unrolled a tube of wrap printed with Stormtroopers and Christmas wreaths. Despite that claim, Bucky did help her wrap the presents that they were planning to take over to Stark Tower on Christmas Eve. They turned the movie to _A Christmas Story_ and both couples took up separate couches to snuggle.

“Why haven’t I watched this before?” Steve accused, pausing in playing with Bucky’s hair to poke him. “It’s hysterical!”

“Just never got around to it,” Bucky told him.

“Bucky had a Red Ryder air rifle like that,” Steve told them proudly. 

“Someone thought it was a good idea to give you a gun?” Sam demanded.

“Everybody had ‘em,” Steve said. “Except me. Ma was a nurse. She really was afraid that I’d shoot my eye out, or at least ruin my reading glasses.”

“Frah-jee-lay,” Nat recited along with Ralphie’s dad when he opened the lamp box onscreen. “I love this so much.” Sam nuzzled her temple.

“See? I spoil you once in a while.

“Oh, I’m _so_ spoiled,” she agreed, giving him a dubious look. But he gave her The Smile, and the goo-goo eyes, and the kisses that didn’t go without feedback from the peanut gallery.

“Sheesh, you two are gross,” Bucky told them.

“Just stop it, already. That’s terrible. You’ll scare the children,” Steve chimed in. 

“By children, you mean _you_.” Nat kissed Sam again, just because she could, and she loved giving Steve a hard time. 

By the time they watched Ralphie come down the stairs in the pink bunny pajamas, Steve nudged Bucky, kissing him behind his ear. “Buck?”

“Yeah, Stevie?”

“You did good.” His arm tightened around him and Bucky returned his easy smile. “You did real good.”

**Author's Note:**

> I also have fics coming soon for the StuckyThorki Santa Exchange and the Stucky Secret Santa Exchange! Stay tuned!


End file.
